"Michael Swanwick - Radiant Doors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

Down this week's checklist I went, and with each item she shook her head.
"Prigogine engines? SVAT trance status? Lepton soliloquies?" Nothing, nothing,
nothing. "Phlenaria? The Toledo incident? 'Third Martyr' theory? Science
Investigatory Group G?"

"They took my daughter," she said to this last. "They did things to her."

"I didn't ask you that. If you know anything about their military organization,
their machines, their drugs, their research techniquesтАУfine. But I don't want to
hear about people."

"They did things." Her dead eyes bored into mine. "TheyтАУ"

"Don't tell me."


file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Michael%20Swanwick%20-%20Radiant%20Doors.htm (3 of 21) [12/30/2004 8:07:58 PM]
 Radiant Doors by Michael Swanwick This story first appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction, September 1998


"тАУreturned her to us midway through. They said they were understaffed. They
sterilized our kitchen and gave us a list of more things to do to her. Terrible
things. And a checklist like yours to write down her reactions."

"Please."

"We didn't want to, but they left a device so we'd obey. Her father killed himself.
He wanted to kill her too, but the device wouldn't let him. After he died, they
changed the settings so I couldn't kill myself too. I tried."

"God damn." This was something new. I tapped my pen twice, activating its
piezochronic function, so that it began recording fifteen seconds earlier. "Do you
remember anything about this device? How large was it? What did the controls
look like?" Knowing how unlikely it was that she'd give us anything usable. The
average refugee knew no more about their technology than the average here-and-
now citizen knows about television and computers. You turn them on and they do
things. They break down and you buy a new one.

Still, my job was to probe for clues. Every little bit contributed to the big picture.
Eventually they'd add up. That was the theory, anyway. "Did it have an internal or
external power source? Did you ever see anybody servicing it?"

"I brought it with me," the woman said. She reached into her filthy clothing and
removed a fist-sized chunk of quicksilver with small, multicolored highlights.
"Here."

She dumped it in my lap.

It was automation that did it or, rather, hyperautomation. That old bugaboo of